


built of broken bone

by haipollai



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mage Trevelyan - Freeform, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 07:54:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6365614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haipollai/pseuds/haipollai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trevelyan collapses to his knees as he falls through the portal, unable to even lift his head to see if Dorian is with him or if they’ve come through at the right place and time. There are voices around them, voices yelling but he’s grown used to drowning those out. Letting whatever curses and atrocities they want to throw at him simply wash over him.</p><p>His hand is screaming in pain, he can feel every single thread of magic in the room like they’re wound tightly around his flesh and tightening like wire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	built of broken bone

**Author's Note:**

> +thanks (i guess =p) to renne for being the nag who got me to write this  
> +title from nothing to no one by gin wigmore

Trevelyan collapses to his knees as he falls through the portal, unable to even lift his head to see if Dorian is with him or they’ve come through at the right place and time. There are voices around them, voices yelling but he’s grown used to drowning those out. Letting whatever curses and atrocities they want to throw at him simply wash over him.

His hand is screaming in pain, he can feel every single thread of magic in the room like they’re wound tightly around his flesh and tightening like wire.

Through it all he’s suddenly sharply aware of a flare he recognizes as Dorian and he pulls from whatever reserves he has left and forces himself to his feet. Dorian has Alexius by the neck, the Alexius Trevelyan had begun to think was a figment of his imagination. His entire life had begun to feel like he had made it up.

They’re back.

“Dorian!” He yells, pulling him back by his shirt. Dorian stumbles into him but lets go of Alexius. “We promised,” he says, still holding tightly to Dorian’s shirt with his good hand. “He is punished properly.” He can see his surroundings now, he lets himself see and points at Felix. “He’s still here,” he whispers.

Dorian looks at him, or maybe looks through him. They’re back but they’re not, not really. They became something else through that portal, in another time. Dorian finally nods and goes over to Felix and Trevelyan stands alone, staring down Alexius.

“Herald,” Cassandra says. “Herald, what has happened?” She comes up beside him, her sword drawn again or maybe still.

“You seem…” Varric says. Treveylan doesn’t want to know what he sees. He hasn’t seen his true reflection in what seems like forever.

He turns and there is Fiona and and Iron Bull flanked by soldiers of the Inquisition. Nothing has changed. No time has passed. It seems unreal or maybe unfair. He understands Leliana’s anger now when he and Dorian strode in convinced they could simply set things right. They didn’t understand then and no one else understands now.

“Take Alexius into our custody to be tried for his crimes,” he orders. Whatever is in his face makes Alexius cower and sink to his knees. Trevelyan wants desperately to open up a rift in his chest, to tear him limb from limb for the pain he put Trevelyan and Dorian through.

None of it would be enough though, even if Alexius was tortured for years, it would never be enough. He swallows back the anger so he can get through this without doing something stupid.

“But-” Fiona begins, long slender fingers twisting up together. Her eyes are wide with panic. She can probably feel it, the way the magic in the room crackles, fighting with itself to fix the tear left by the rift in time.

At that moment King Alistair strides in and everything threatens to shatter all over again. He has to keep it together but his struggles to do make everything seem to slip further away into a sense of unreality. He’s floating with no counterweights and his arm hurts so badly.

He doesn’t know if it’s the right decision or not when he invites the mages back as allies but he needs the moment to end and he won’t give up his own people even to his own king. It’s a relief when it’s all over though, when they can begin the trip back to Haven and away from this place and away from its magic. His arm feels better when they’re outside and even better when Dorian comes up to his side.

“Here,” he says softly, taking Trevelyan by the elbow. He touches two fingers of his other hand to Trevelyan’s palm, the relief is almost immediate.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” There is no attempt at bravado, just quiet simplicity. His hand stays on Trevelyan’s elbow all the way back. There are looks, Cassandra’s brow stays furrowed and Varric keeps looking but he’s too clever to ask. Trevelyan is sure it’s the only way either of them make it back, by clinging to each other. He tries to return the favor as best he can, but his magic feels strangely dulled back in this time before the world has been ripped apart. 

In Haven, Dorian finally lets go to return to the small room he’s been put up in and Trevelyan returns to his own but he stands in the room and doesn’t recognize it. It’s his but he’s not him anymore.

As he’s in there, there’s a soft knock and Josephine lets herself in. She has a tray of food and drinks which she sets down on the table and takes a seat. “You do not have to talk to me, Herald. But to know what has happened would be a great benefit.”

“What has happened?” He takes a seat at the table across from her. “With Alexius?”

“Yes, with him. But of course as I said-”

“We were there for months I think. Dorian has a better sense of it,” he interrupts. “Corypheus had won. Alexius had realized too late what that meant for him.” She has always been the kindest to him, accepting him and inviting him to ask questions and learn. 

Josephine swallows, he's not sure what she was expecting to hear but he somehow suspects it isn't this. “What did he do?” She asks. 

“He thought the anchor was his opportunity.” He looks down at his hand. He had thought about smashing it with a rock or begging Dorian to magic it off, anything to make the pain stop but he had never given in. “And the anchor was useless without me. But he needed to expand its effects and he tried to pull it out of me over and over.” He spreads his fingers wide, looking at the scars left in the webbing between his fingers. They had stabbed him there to pin him down and bleed him for their spells. Always through the webbing, careful to never risk his palm and the anchor. 

He pushes up his sleeve so she can see where the worst scar is. “They tried to cut my arm off, but realized the anchor was too much apart of me to be removed.”

“Oh Faron,” she breathes. 

He looks up in surprise, she's never used his given name, he didn't even realize she knew it. He expects pity in her eyes but she just looks so sad, it's not how she should look ever, her face is made for smiling. “You believe me?” He asks. Those in the party with him in Redcliffe had been much more doubtful when first told. 

“I have seen those who have suffered from torture before,” she says. “I believe something horrible was done to you.”

He nods, it's enough for now. It is too much to relive continuously to convince everyone of the exact details so this is enough. “Thank you.” He reaches for the tray, telling himself he doesn’t have to be cautious, he’s amongst friends again but until his fingers close over the piece of bread he expects it to be jerked away and even looking at the bread he is waiting for it to turn into slugs or maggots. Maybe it will come at his first bite or once it’s in his stomach, leaving him to writhe and vomit.

“Trevelyan?” Her voice is distant, not enough to shatter the panic tightening around his head. She touches his arm but it’s not her, it’s a guard glowing red, it’s Alexius reaching to yank his hand out to cut into it once again and he yanks himself away and he’s back in his room with Josephine looking down at him and behind her is Vivienne, Dorian and Cullen. Trevelyan groans. He does not need this audience for his breakdown, especially Cullen. He heard stories when in the Circle and learned at a young age to never let a Templar see him weak. 

He tries to push himself him, to at least not appear so shaken with so many gathered around. His entire body feels drained though and even sitting up feels like a challenge. 

“We felt the flare of magic,” Vivienne says.

Dorian is already pushing past her, to her obvious distaste, and kneels at his side. “Honestly, such dramatics, you could put me to shame.” He touches Trevelyan’s hand as he tsks.

“It’s not…” He starts but the touch to his hand is immediately calming. He gives Dorian an annoyed look at being cut off but Trevelyan can't find much feeling to put into it. He needed this, the panic finally subsides and he can breathe again.

“What exactly are you doing to him, may I ask?” Vivienne looms over them.

“Helping,” Dorian says sharply.

Trevelyan starts pushing himself up and Josephine and Dorian are immediately there to provide support. “I believe it would be best to let the Herald rest,” Josephine says, calmly taking control of everything. “Ser Pavus, if you don’t mind?”

“Not at all.” He gets an arm around Trevelyan and guides him to bed while Josephine shoos everyone else out. Vivienne seems the most reluctant to leave. 

“Tomorrow Madame,” Trevelyan says, his voice shaky even to his own ears. She had come from the same Circle as he had though, and he wants her to understand, to not leave cold and suspicious. 

“Tomorrow,” She agrees, finally stepping outside. 

“If there is anything I can bring you,” Josephine says, coming back over to them. “Please just let me know.”

She starts to leave but Trevelyan reaches out and grabs her sleeve. “Wait. You need to know. Corypheus is going to target Celene.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s true,” Dorian says. “We saw the evidence.”

Josephine seems to consider this before nodding. “I will see what we can do.”

With her gone, Trevelyan lets himself slump back into bed, staring up at the ceiling. Dorian stays beside him, leaning back against the wall, his leg pressed along Trevelyan’s side. He doesn’t feel steady, but he feels like he can hold himself together and if he loses it, he knows Dorian understands.

“It was the bread,” he finally says. “I couldn’t- I tried-”

Dorian brushes his fingertips over his forehead. “I have to confess I did the same with my wine. Threw it against the wall, awful waste. At least you didn’t do more than singe the bread a bit.”

“I need to get my control back.”

“You will.” He says it with such quiet confidence that Trevelyan just stares at him for a beat.

“It’s rude to make promises, even I know that,” he finally says. The uncultured Fereldan mage, fourth son of a minor lord which he is reminded of everytime he enters the war room and stands among people who know how to move mountains. The power in his hand was never supposed to be his. 

Dorian scoffs. “I would never, I am a beacon of good taste and good manners. Mostly,” he concedes after a pause. “I am offering my help, dear Trevelyan.”

“Then will you stay the night?” He thinks he can sleep like this with Dorian here beside him. For however many months passed in Alexius’s dungeon, Dorian managed to keep him safe and Trevelyan trusts him to do it here as well.

Dorian lets out a breath. “I thought you would never ask. Was rather fearing being alone.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better,” Trevelyan says it offhandedly, not sure if he’s teasing or being serious but Dorian touches his chin to make him meet his eyes. 

Dorian’s eyes are completely serious. Q“You did not suffer alone.”

He fumbles to grab Dorian’s hand and squeezes tightly. “I know.”

-

Dorian feels like his chest has been torn out as they all stand together to watch Haven disappear under an entire mountain. Watching the Herald disappear under a mountain. He doesn't know what will happen now, he's still the Tevinter here among this motley group. There's been no missing the rumors either, they think he did something to the Herald, they think Dorian is only there to be a spider. No one believes or understands what happened to them.

It hurts sometimes, the dark looks he’s surrounded with but he’s grown used to it. It’s not much different than his life in Tevinter really. Somehow though over the past few weeks he had come to rely on the Herald to be there. It was a strange new thing, support, and now it’s gone.

Even as Haven disappears, they can’t stop for long, they don’t know the state of Corypheus or his troops. They can’t risk lingering or getting caught, even though they have no idea where to go. It takes about a full day of trudging through snow before that fact catches up with the refugees and they simply stop going any further. Tents are set up, clustered close so the troops they have can at least try to defend them.

There is no one else he can go to, who he trusts to let see him feeling beaten down. He retreats to his tent alone, avoid the looks by keeping his head high. Once inside he sinks down to the small bed. There are no tears, Dorian has not let himself cry since he was a boy and his father beat him for it.

He stares listlessly at his staff. He and Trevelyan had worked together on both their staffs, making them better, making them stronger. There would never be a next time. He would never be caught like that, no one would hurt them like that. Since coming back, Dorian had spent every night in Treveylan’s bed, not for sex but because somehow being pressed close to the one other person alive who knew what he’d been subjected to kept the nightmares away.

They did the same when they could in Alexius’ dungeon. They weren’t always kept in the same cell. Days would go by and Dorian would start to truly believe Trevelyan was dead or maybe he himself was dead but then they would be thrown back in together, one or both of them close to death, dried blood on their skin. Trevelyan did not trust him at first, thinking he might be a plant but they learned quickly they had no one but each other. 

Now alone again for perhaps the first time since they were in Alexius’ hands, he doesn’t know if he can even close his eyes.

The flap of his tent is pushed aside without warning and he scrambles to his feet, making sure to grab his staff. Dorian figures this must be it, there is no Herald to protect him and now they've come for him. Except it is only Vivienne, still somehow grand and regal with her outfit ruined by snow and damp. 

“I examined him, on his own,” she says without preamble. “There were lingering magics on him, but nothing from you.”

“I only tried to keep him alive.” He doesn't release his staff just yet. 

“I could see that. If he returns, I would like your assistance in removing the curses placed on him. They seemed to be slowing his healing, perhaps capping his magic and are clearly Tevinter, which you obviously would know best.”

Dorian swallows hard, he hadn't realized that had been done to him. He thought all the magic done to both of them had been dispelled but apparently he failed. For a long moment it takes all of his concentration to simply breathe. “Of course, Madame.”

“Good.” She sweeps out of the room, leaving him alone with the guilt. He isn't even able to truly process that she clearly absolved him of any wrongdoing. 

He drops back to the cot, letting his staff fall heavily to the ground. Magic that sapped Trevelyan's strength could mean death for him now, crushed under the weight of a mountain. It would be Dorian's fault, they would be right to string him up. 

He sits there for a very long time before he feels the ache in his ass and back and has to lie down. Sleep claims him against his will but it is not easy or restful. There’s pain, agonizing, unending pain. In his dream he tries to reach for Trevelyan, but he’s caught, his body warped into red crystals and his hand just out of reach.

He thinks he whispers an apology, the guilt is as bad as the burning searing pain of the red lyrium being used to brand his skin. There was no one else to protect the Herald and he had failed. 

When he wakes up, his cheeks are wet and the sun is not yet up. He gets to his feet anyway and steps out into the sharp cold of the mountains. People are still awake, not many but a few who also found it hard to find rest. He stays by his tent away from the others, watching the stars.

-

He comes to, to the sound of an argument. He slowly sits up, not sure he really wants to but he needs to know. He’s still cold, too cold but his feet are finally dry. Mother Giselle is sitting beside him and immediately leans forward to rest a hand on his chest.

“Stay child, you have been through a lot.”

He shakes his head. “I suspect I need to be out there with them.” He nods at the advisors, only a step away from outright yelling. 

“We have had too much time to waste and determination has turned into doubt,” Mother Giselle says, as seemingly patient and understanding as ever. She reminds Trevelyan of one of the chantry mothers in Ostwick, a Mother Maeissa who took it upon herself to mediate in Templar and mage disputes. 

“How long have I….” He trails off as his eyes move around the tent and he notices for the first time Dorian fast asleep in a chair in the corner. Even in sleep he still looks troubled and tired. 

Mother Giselle follows his gaze. “He has been here since they found you. He insisted even when I refused to let him use his magic-”

“Why?” He interrupts. 

“Because he is Tevinter, even having him here is a risk, we both know that.” Still calm as if she hasn't accused Dorian of being a spy. “Lady Vivienne was more than capable. You still need rest though -”

“No, I need to know what’s happening.” His legs still feel weak but he stands straight. Mother Giselle clearly doesn’t approve but sighs and nods. He goes to Dorian and lightly touches his shoulder, just to make sure he’s real. He lets a small bit of magic flare at his fingertips, wanting to calm him and help him sleep better. Some of the lines on Dorian’s face ease. It doesn’t feel like enough after what Dorian suffered because of him. He tells himself that later, when they are safe, he will do more. 

With that done he walks out into the snow, wanting to find out what he’s missed but then the singing begins behind him and everyone else starts joining in, leaving him standing among a crowd. Singing for him. His head swims, not sure what to do or how to react. He’s grateful when Solas appears to steal him away. 

Something has changed between the fall of Haven and now. People look at him in awe instead of hesitant suspicion. 

Faron Trevelyan was born the fourth of six children of a minor Ostwick noble. He's beyond expendable, and his parents were more than happy to shuffle him off to the circle when he first displayed magic abilities at the age of six. He was taught the basics of what a noble needed, he can dance when pressed and he knows most proper greetings. His ability to maneuver a political situation was learned while trying to balance safety in between Chantry and Templars and other mages in the Circle. To be looked at like he's special, and powerful, _that_ he was never prepared for. 

It makes his skin crawl but he looks at his hand, trying to remind himself why he’s doing this. There is no walking away. He's already been shown in the worst possible way there is no way to remove the anchor. 

-

“Quite a room,” Dorian says as he comes up the stairs, his eyes fixed up on the ceiling that Trevelyan had decided to light in his own way. Small balls of light float up around the cold stone, a few drifting lower as they lose energy. He gives a flick of his wrist from his desk to send them flying back up. “Nice touch.”

“The candlelight was too dim in the evening.” He leans back in his chair to look at Dorian, grateful for the break. “I hear you’ve moved into the library.”

Dorian flashes him a smirk as he opens the balcony door. “Of course not, that would just be silly. I’ve moved into a room _adjacent_ to the library.”

“Oh of course, obviously.” Trevelyan gets to his feet to follow him outside. It’s an incredible view, he’s not sure he will ever get used to it, the mountains looming around them like silent guardians or prison walls. He’s grateful for it though, so much openness, he’s no longer in a cell. The cold here is biting and sharp, not dank and dead. Dorian startles him by catching his shoulder and squeezing.

“I find it quite rude to not be the sole center of attention,” he teases but his eyes are worried. Without being told, he knows exactly where Trevelyan was going in his head.

“Will you stay tonight?” He glances back at the big room, bigger than his room in the Circle. “A whole new place, could be scary. I need someone big and strong.”

Dorian laughs, the moment easing past them. “Oh well, then you are for sure calling on the right man.” He throws his arm over Trevelyan’s shoulder, pulling him against him. Trevelyan rests against him. 

“I need to get back to work,” he says, staring out at the mountains and making no effort to move. 

Dorian stays beside him, pressed shoulder to shoulder. “I believe the world owes you at least five more minutes of this.”

-

Usually it’s Trevelyan waking up in the middle of the night, chest too tight, everything burning in pain because the nightmare is too real. This time it’s Dorian, eyes unseeing trying to claw his way out. They are lashing him, over and over because of his impertinence. There are barbs in the leather that cut his skin each time, leaving his back shredded to the bone. 

They heal him when it looks like he might end up too injured, just so they can start again. The pain is never ending and they won't let him simply die. 

Someone is grabbing his shoulders, repeating his name over and over. Their hands are warm, the only warmth he knew in their cell and finally he blinks and it’s the high ceilings of the Inquisitor’s bedroom, all it’s shadows highlighted with sharp moonlight. He sucks in a sharp breath of air and sags into the mattress.

Trevelyan is over him, his hands on Dorian’s shoulders, pinning him down. His silver hair catches the moonlight, making everything about him seem lighter. The moonlight also catches the thick scar on his arm from when they first considered simply cutting off the arm. Most of Trevelyan’s clothes cover the ragged line about four inches up from his wrist but he’s only in sleep pants right now. No secrets here.

He gives Dorian a crooked smile but doesn’t release him just yet. “Back with me?”

“I don’t believe I left,” he tries to quip but it comes out flat. Dorian closes his eyes and sucks in a deep breath, reaching for some way to steady himself and shake off the lingering tremors. He has no scars left on his back but he’s learning that’s not enough to make the pain stop. “Did I do anything-” He asks as he opens his eyes again.

Now Trevelyan sits back on his heels, his hands folding neatly in his lap. “Besides making the room burning hot, no.”

He grimaces as he pushes himself up to sit back against the headboard. It feels less vulnerable. “I do apologize. I know your Fereldan sensibilities prefer the nagging chill.”

Trevelyan rolls his eyes. “If I liked the cold that much, I certainly wouldn’t be able to sleep beside you and the thickest blankets in Skyhold.” It feels like an odd thing for them to joke about, neither are particularly fond of cold these days. Not after that dungeon with all the life sapped out of it. Dorian never knew before that rock itself could feel dead.

He reaches out to touch Trevelyan’s arm. “Well, I don’t have those blankets around me now and I don’t believe I can fall asleep again quickly.” Trevelyan doesn’t wait for him to say anything else before moving to sit beside him, pressed shoulder to shoulder. He takes Dorian's hand in his, gently pushing warmth through to him, easing the knot in Dorian's stomach. 

“I need to return to Emprise du Lion, the bridge is done,” Trevelyan says. “I know you hate the cold, but I want you with me. Vivienne is returning to Val Royeux briefly to participate in some talks with Josephine, Solas is doing something magic-y.”

“You sound like Sera.”

He shrugs. “I don’t understand what Solas is doing most of the time. Sera will be coming as well, she wants to check in on the town. Likely Cassandra, I’ll need to check with her. She might have to accompany some troops to check on the Dales.” He ticks each person off on his fingers as he talks. “Bull should be around, if you don’t mind having the big, mean Qunari with us.”

“It’s going to be nothing but tool puns,” Dorian sighs, slipping down so he can rest his head on Trevelyan’s shoulder. He can feel the soft laugh that shakes through him. “As much as I do like talking about myself, I do consider certain innuendos too far.”

“You know Sera is never going to stop.”

“Perhaps someone in authority indulges her too much,” he retorts, knowing he sounds childish.

“She wouldn’t listen if I did try to order her.” He shifts around to Dorian’s annoyance but the shifting is just to get his arm around Dorian’s shoulders. “I could bring Cole instead.”

“Always makes for an interesting time.”

Trevelyan’s fingers absently run up and down Dorian’s arm but he doesn’t seem to realize he’s doing it so Dorian doesn’t say a thing. Physical comfort has never been a common thing in his life. His parents would have had to seen him as more than just as the heir to their legacy to think to hug him occasionally. This is trust, right here with Trevelyan absently breaking down who he will bring with him to the Emprise du Lion, and Dorian doesn’t feel like he has to say anything or do anything except just sit there. The tension of the nightmare eases away and he thinks he might even be able to fall back to sleep.

“You don’t have to come you know,” Trevelyan suddenly says softly. “I know with the cold, and it will likely be Sera, I need her bow after all and you could really use the rest.”

“Are you truly this caring or is this an elaborate con?” He asks.

“Yes, an elaborate con, you’ve found me out. I'm here to con you into a decent night sleep. ” He takes his arm back to lie down, much to Dorian’s disappointment. “Do you want me to stay awake?”

“It is quite tempting to keep someone up so I can wallow in agony with an audience,” he says, trying to keep it light despite the sudden reminder of what waits for him when he closes his eyes. “But I believe you are the one person that deserves all the rest he can get.” 

Trevelyan rolls his eyes and throws an arm over Dorian’s waist. “If you’re sure.” He yawns into the pillow. They’ve kept each other up plenty over the past months, there’s no longer any guilt. “We’ll defeat Corypheus, and we’ll both get a good night’s sleep,” he mumbles, almost asleep right away.

Dorian gives in and lies down, making sure Trevelyan’s arm stays across his body for the physical comfort. He’s not sure if he’ll actually manage to sleep but Trevelyan’s breathing evens out and his body is warm against Dorian’s. The room is full of life and with a flick of his wrist, Dorian reignites the lights Trevelyan keeps floating by his ceiling.

His eyes open again when Trevelyan stirs, the room full now of early morning light. He rolls onto his side as Trevelyan slips out of bed, watching him begin his morning routines. Dorian’s learned the Inquisitor is an efficient morning person, trained that way from being essentially raised by the rigid system of the Circle. Every step done exactly so. It always struck Dorian as an odd counterpoint to his usual gentleness.

“I have a meeting with the advisors right now,” he says as he laces up his boots. “Once that’s done, I’ll know for sure where people need to go. We’ll meet then.” He shoots Dorian a look, still tangled in the sheets and very clearly not planning on getting up right away. “About an hour, Magister, shall I arrange for someone to bring your silken robes?”

Dorian stretches out lazily. He doesn’t mind playing the part of the spoiled brat. “If you wouldn’t mind,” he drawls.

Trevelyan laughs warmly. “I’ll get Sera right on that.”

Dorian throws a pillow at his retreating back. He waits a bit before grudgingly getting out of bed himself and preparing himself. The meeting between the advisors must have gone quicker than Trevelyan had anticipated because Dorian steps into the Great Hall and runs smack into Cullen. He’s about to excuse himself and give his most heartfelt apology when Cullen grabs his arm and steers him back into the hallway he just came from, letting the heavy door slam shut behind them.

“ _Command_ -”

“I kept my suspicions quiet before but now you come flaunting out of the Inquisitor’s rooms like you’re royalty. You grow too bold with your games, Magister,” Cullen hisses, pushing him back hard against a wall, igniting the phantom pains in his back. “I will not allow you to jeopardize our mission here.”

Dorian stares at him wide eyed. He knew the rumors, there was no missing the dark looks shot his way but even Mother Giselle had backed off from accusing him so blatantly after the meeting with his father. It takes him a second to even collect himself enough he can say anything. When he does though, he shoves back hard at Cullen, not caring that the former Templar doesn’t budge. “If helping to defeat Corypheus is a game, then fine you have caught me. Besides that I am up to nothing.”

“I’ll concede you’re not Venatori,” Cullen continues. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but I will not let you bewitch-”

“How. Dare. You.” He finally snaps. He had tried to avoid using magic but he won’t stand there and be accused like this. It’s easy to turn air into a solid wall and push, sending Cullen stumbling into the opposite wall. “I know the pain of someone trying to reach into your mind and make you someone else and if you ever accuse me doing something to another person, I will rip your head off.” He usually keeps his temper under check but he practically shakes at the implication he could be as cruel as his father.

“I have kept guard over your kind for most of my life, I know how easily you lie and fall into your own temptations.” Cullen’s hand is resting on his sword now though.

“Do you think the same of the Inquisitor? How little faith you must have in it with a mage the chosen of Andraste.”

Cullen purses his lips and Dorian doesn’t miss the way his cheeks pale slightly. “I...let my emotions get the better of me.”

Dorian’s eyebrows raise, it’s not the reaction he was expecting but he’s not going to push any further, not while Cullen still seems so on edge. “It has been a trying time,” he says carefully.

“That is no excuse. You have fought well for us.”

Dorian shrugs. “I am a Tevinter mage amongst an army who is fighting my countrymen, I expect some distrust. I would request you never express it so violently again.”

Cullen stands a little straighter and purses his lips. “I understand.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I do apologize. I have been setting a bad example for my men as well. This is not the time to cast doubt on the Inquisitor or his choices.”

Dorian shrugs, it seems he will have to accept that the Commander does not believe Dorian is not sleeping with the Inquisitor. The Commander is many things, but he is not a gossip so Dorian figures it is easier to let him believe what he wants. He will keep an eye over his shoulder for a little bit though, just in case. 

-

Trevelyan gapes when he first approaches Cullen’s quarters to find him seated outside with Dorian, playing chess. They're bantering as they trade moves, as if this is normal. 

He knows Dorian would never do something like compel Cullen to do anything which means they both chose to sit there. And be civil. He clears his throat as he gets closer, partly to inform them he's there but mainly to give himself a pause to figure out what to say. 

“Inquisitor?” Cullen immediately sits up straighter while Dorian slouches back comfortably in his chair.

Trevelyan holds up a hand to pause Cullen’s questions. “There is no emergency, I wanted to see how we are doing with certain supplies.” He tells Dorian a lot but with the two of them playing nice, he doesn’t want to start delving into templar business. “Don’t mind me, continue with your game.”

Dorian sighs heavily. “No, no, it is time to end this charade. The day is yours Commander.”

Cullen beams like a little kid. It’s a side of him Trevelyan hasn’t seen before. “Rematch?”

“Another time, my ego needs time to recover from the two you’ve now won.” Dorian pushes himself up to his feet. “Another time.” He rests his hand on Trevelyan’s arm as he passes. “You also owe me.”

Trevelyan arches his eyebrows. “I owe you?”

“You dragged me into the cold, of course you owe me.” He walks away before Trevelyan can retort.

“Game, Inquisitor?” Cullen says, gesturing at Dorian’s empty seat. “I promise to go easy on you.”

“Well in that case.” He sits back as Cullen sets the board back up. “I know about your history,” he finally says. Cullen’s fingers pause over the black queen but then continue, perhaps slightly more briskly than before. Trevelyan might be imagining that. “Every Circle did by the end.”

“Inquisitor-”

“Wait, okay?” He sighs and shakes his head. “I have _always_ known. Cassandra trusts you and I see no reason to doubt her judgment and I never saw a reason to bring it up before. There is no way I know to even begin to make up for the pain you caused, besides to save the world right now. But I also know about your confrontation with Dorian the other day.” 

Cullen flinches. “That was a failure of judgment. I will make no excuses for it. I invited him here today to formally apologize.”

Trevelyan nods, grateful that the issue seems to be sorting itself out. He’s not blind, he knows about the rumors around Dorian, he knows about the suspicious looks cast at both Dorian and himself, people wondering what sort of influence the Tevinter mage truly has. For the most part he’s ignored them since he doubts anyone would actually believe him if he said none of it was true. People already have such a hard time accepting that the two of them lived months in another time and place when no time seemed to pass for any of them.

“It cannot happen again Cullen,” he says, picking up a pawn and moving it to start the game. “Most of the mages here would never dare say a word if a templar threatened them, a templar threat is simply too much a part of life. So I have to trust in you.” The words feel heavy on his tongue, he was never part of the rebellion but word of the atrocities in Kirkwall reached everyone. 

Cullen meets his eyes straight on, there is pain there but also an understanding. Everything is on the table right now. “I should apologize to you as well,” Cullen says. “When you had the panic attack, and Dorian seemed to know exactly how to calm you, I assumed it was a side effect of whatever spells he had cast on you. I didn’t believe you before. I do now.”

He allows himself a small smile, one of the mages who had helped raise him had insisted problems be aired out, it was easy in the Circle to hold onto grudges and that internal hatred led too easily to abominations. She would be delighted to see this now. “What changed your mind?”

“Dorian was so angry when I- I accused him of doing something to you.” He rubs sheepishly at his hair. “Thought he might light me on fire right there.”

“To be honest, I wouldn’t have stopped him.”

“Do I need to worry in the field?”

Trevelyan shakes his head. “No, this is too important.” He tightens his hand into a fist, feeling the anchor burn under his skin. He makes his hand loosen and relax. “Well? Are we playing?” 

Cullen looks at him for a beat longer before nodding and easing back into his chair. “Keep up then, I believe it’s your turn.”

-

“You love ‘im,” Sera declares as she drops down into the seat beside him. They’re up in the Frostbacks, and Dorian truly isn’t sure how Trevelyan keeps talking him into joining him in such cold climates. They’re at least in the Avvar camp, they requested the Inquisitor make an appearance at some celebration they have and to deal with a rift that had formed nearby. Two birds with one stone, Josephine was absolutely overjoyed.

It had all gone incredibly smoothly for them, for once. The rift wasn’t too large and the Avvar themselves had taken care of most of the demons who crawled out of it. They were back in time for the party with plenty of time to spare.

Trevelyan had immediately been dragged off to be prepared and the rest left to enjoy the beginnings of the feast. There was music and some of the younger clan members were already up and dancing, Sera had happily jumped up to join them. Dorian had been to enough feasts to know how to pace himself and was content to sit back and enjoy. Maybe in a little bit he would have had enough to feel comfortable joining in the dancing.

Then Trevelyan had been led back out, his fingers in the thick fur of the clan’s bear. His usual tunic had been replaced with something sleeveless and his arms painted with intricate designs in bright colors. There had been some speeches, Sera and Varric had cheered as Trevelyan stammered through some words.

The party picked back up with more enthusiasm than before. Dorian had started to make his way around to Trevelyan, still kept upfront with the Thane and Cassandra. He stopped when he noticed the young man with his arm on Trevelyan’s hip. That wouldn’t have been been enough on its own, but Trevelyan was smiling at him, his head angled slightly and his own fingers rested on the man’s elbow. Inviting him to touch.

Dorian quickly turned at that point, refusing to do something stupid like feel jealous.

Which was when Sera decided he needed company. He sighs dramatically, figuring the only way to get this to go away is to play into it. “You’ve found me out, I am sitting here-”

“Oh don’t be a wanker.” She punches his shoulder surprisingly hard, making him slosh some of his wine out of the glass.

“That was entirely uncalled for,” he sniffs. She rolls her eyes and does it again, but this time he’s more prepared for it and at least doesn’t spill any more wine. “What are you even on about?”

“Him, his blessed arse.” She gestures towards Trevelyan, using some meat on a stick to point. Dorian eyes it suspiciously, just waiting for it to go flying. “You’ve been arse over heels in love with him forever, it’s gross.”

“Gross.”

“Oh not like that, get over yourself.” She makes a face as she takes a bite of the kebab. “All the mushy feelings getting over everything. Gross.” She shakes her head like an incredibly disappointed grandmother. Dorian looks again over at Trevleyan, he’s still standing with the young man, both of them seeming to lean in closer to each other. He’s not jealous or if he is, it’s not like Sera means. He has simply grown accustomed to being constantly in Trevelyan’s presence, only an arm’s length away, both of them constantly reaching for each other.

Nothing more and nothing less.

It has been simply been a matter of time before one or both of them healed enough to not need the other. Dorian isn’t surprised that Trevelyan got there first, the man is stronger than most see. 

Of course, he would not mind being that young man, he has slept curled around Trevelyan’s body, he knows better than most what he has to offer in bed despite never doing more with him than sleep and embrace. The thought has truly never crossed his mind before this. There’s been too much else to worry about, but seeing that look in Trevelyan’s eyes aimed at the young Avvar man, he can’t seem to think about anything else.

“It’s okay to love you know,” Sera says, surprisingly soft and gentle. He looks at her in surprise, knowing too well she is neither of those things. It makes her blush and quickly look away. “Just you know, world’s gone to shit. Got to get something good out of this fucking mess, yea?”

He smiles sadly, maybe she’s right. At the very least, she has some kind of point. “Then that is even more reason for me to sit back and let him enjoy his night.”

“What? And you don’t count for shit?” She hmphs and gets to her feet. “Be that way then, I got better things to do then help out you mopers.” She disappears into the party, leaving Dorian on his own. He tells himself this is better, this isn’t his kind of party anyway. An evening soiree? He could tell you who the host was planning to poison by the while appetizers were still being passed around. This is a _festival_ , he isn’t the right man for this. He should have stayed back in Skyhold. He can’t remember the last time he didn’t accompany the Inquisitor on a mission, but this time he should have found a way to say no.

-

Trevelyan finds Dorian on the edge of their camp. It’s early morning, the sun barely breaking through the trees of the Emerald Groves. He clears his throat softly to get his attention. Something changed after the party in the Frostbacks, Dorian took a step back and at first Trevelyan had simply been too busy to do anything about it. Whenever Trevelyan asked for his company, he was there but he stopped coming to Trevelyan’s room at night and didn’t seem to be very welcoming when Trevelyan showed at his.

He’s managed to make himself sleep, not always very well but at least a few hours every night. It’s been enough so far. At first, the nightmares stayed away but every further night on his own becomes harder and harder to stay warm.

This night though, he finally grew tired of it and once he heard Dorian slip out of his bed roll, Trevelyan followed. He knows rationally that Dorian has become something of a crutch, but he’s helped him heal as well. He’s become the one Trevelyan knows he can trust with everything. Somehow, Dorian has become important for more than what they suffered through together and it’s taken him too long to see that.

Dorian glances over his shoulder at him and immediately shifts his stance. Standing a little straighter, hands behind his back. Trevelyan realizes how odd it is, to be so close to someone and miss them.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says matter of factly. Maybe he’s been spending too much time with Sera and Cassandra, but he has no use for tact right now. Dorian will always beat him in a game of words and suggestions.

Dorian turns to look back out into the trees. “It seemed time to stop constantly tailing you. That is all.”

Trevelyan takes a step closer as if approaching a scared animal. “Well. What if I want you right beside me?”

Dorian sighs and twists on the balls of his feet, making his tunic twist around him dramatically as he turns to face Trevelyan. “Do you know what is remarkably dull?”

He arches his eyebrows, not sure at all where Dorian is going with this but he’s talking freely so Trevelyan figures he can be patient. “What?” He prompts.

“Jealousy,” Dorian huffs but his eyes are serious, watching Trevelyan.

He gets the feeling that hhis reaction is being judged. “Jealousy?” He echos, trying to figure out what there is for Dorian to be jealous of. It cannot be the anchor in his hand, or the pain he’s suffered because of it, Trevelyan has had nothing glorious come to him because of the thing.

“Oh good, even better, you don’t even remember.” Dorian laughs humorlessly. “Well, let me remind you.” He steps into Trevelyan’s space which would be normal except for the intensity in Dorian’s eyes. His hand is surprisingly soft on Trevelyan's skin when he cups his cheek but the press of his lips is anything but. It takes him a second to catch up, but then he's opening his mouth for Dorian’s tongue, letting him take what he wants. 

Dorian has lost the softness of his life in the Magisterium and the body that presses against Trevelyan is solid muscle. Nothing that Trevelyan didn't know before but this is different then how Dorian holds him after a nightmare. He is sharply aware of every inch of Dorian's body right now. 

Too soon, Dorian pulls back, running his tongue thoughtfully over his lips. “You're a better kisser than I expected, with you growing up in a Circle and all.”

He catches Dorian’s shirt before he can go too far. “You were jealous of the man in the Frostbacks?” He had smiled sweetly at Trevelyan, slid into his lap as he painted Trevelyan's skin and Trevelyan had been grateful for a chance to just take pleasure for a night. It had been a long time he had felt relaxed enough to be sexual with anyone. “I didn't even know you would appreciate that kind of interest from me.” Dorian doesn’t look entirely like he believes him so he risks tugging lightly on his shirt, just to get him to take a step closer. “You have shared my bed and never gave any indication.”

“Neither did you.” He seems to accept that Trevelyan isn’t letting go of him just yet and takes another step towards him.

“You were always there and I took you for granted I guess.”

“You truly know how to sweep a man off his feet.”

Trevelyan shrugs. “You cannot be angry at me though, for choosing to sleep with another. Not when I had no idea of your own interest.”

Dorian sighs and lightly touches Trevelyan’s cheek, the familiar warmth Dorian uses to help calm him down after a nightmare suffuses him. He leans into his touch, letting his eyes fall half closed. “I should not be, you mean, I am fully capable of being petulant about it for weeks or even months.” He presses a finger to Trevelyan’s lips before he can tell him how wrong that is. “Do not offer me anything because you feel you must. I am not abandoning the Inquisition until we are finished.”

He shakes off Dorian’s hand despite how badly he just wants to fold into him and stay like that. “I wouldn’t offer myself for that,” he frowns.

Dorian grins wickedly, running a pointed look over Trevelyan's body. “Though if you did, we would have no issue finding allies.”

Trevelyan groans and shoves him away lightly which only makes Dorian’s smile widen. “Don’t give Josephine or Leliana any ideas.”

It’s Dorian’s turn to reach out, running his fingers along the high neckline of Trevelyan’s shirt. Wards have been embroidered into the fabric on Vivienne’s order to give him a little bit of extra protection. “I would never, not when I have a chance to have you to myself. But perhaps, I should let you think on this? It is one thing to be close to the evil Tevinter, quite another to be intimate with him.”

“Dorian,” he sighs but he can’t come up with a solid argument for not waiting. He's fairly sure what they have been to each other for months now is considered intimate. This is not the time or place to debate the semantics. “I expect you in my room back at Skyhold then.”

Dorian bows with a flourish and when he smiles up at him, it's as if nothing has really changed. Except Trevelyan now knows what he tastes like. 

-

There is no time back at Skyhold, as soon as they return, Trevelyan has to be prepared for the Empress’ ball at the Winter Palace. There are meetings upon meetings, lessons on proper behavior and how to speak and what to say. As well as all his normal duties as the leader of the Inquisition and the only one with the power to close the rifts. Dorian goes to his room as he asked but every night he’s either already half asleep or isn’t there at all. Nothing really changes except Dorian can steal kisses during brief moments when they have a pause. There just don't seem to be too many of those. 

It’s almost a relief when they set off for Halamshiral, the entire thing will be done and maybe Trevelyan can get a full night’s sleep for the first time in weeks. 

Josephine had pursed her lips when Trevelyan named his entourage for the ball, but looking around at them now, Dorian understands why they’re all there. Cassandra, Sera, Vivienne, himself, as well as the three advisors. They will all make sure he’s kept safe no matter what they encounter and each of them knows how to get information in their own way. Covering all his bases.

“He plays up his innocence in court matters far too much,” Josephine says almost casually as they approach Halamshiral. Dorian raises an eyebrow at her, not sure why she is telling him this. “I understand him not being comfortable with all this, but he is quite smart. You should tell him that.”

“Me? I believe it would have more weight coming from someone as experienced as yourself.”

“Flattery will get you quite far, Serah,” she laughs. “It is good he chose you to come along, your experience in Tevinter will come quite in handy at a Orlesian ball.”

“I would say you’re lying because there’s no way Orlesian balls could be quite as murderous without magic but we are hunting down an assassin from an evil darkspawn magister, so shows what I know,” he says with a casual shrug as if this could possibly be a normal conversation. 

She grins positively wickedly which Dorian didn't even know she was capable of. “You would be surprised by how inventive a true Orlesian ball can be.”

He takes a moment to glance up ahead at Trevelyan, riding between Cullen and Cassandra. “Does he know?”

“Not really,” She says solemnly. “Not yet, anyway.”

The rest of the night goes about how he expects. Mayhem, chaos, the usual that seems to follow them everywhere. Somehow, the one thing that truly sticks in his head throughout everything is Trevelyan’s offer of a dance. In front of everyone. Between demons, elf conspiracies and angry Orlesians, that simple invitation seems like the most outlandish part of the evening. 

It seems like too much to expect, and he doesn’t think it’s something he can ask for but when he finds Trevelyan out on the balcony, Dorian can’t think of a single other thing to say. Trevelyan is in his formal attire, unable to do more than throw on armor between appearances at the ball. Now, the formal coat is torn at the collar, and he’s unbuttoned the top few buttons. There’s blood on his cheek and it’s streaked down his neck and who knows what injuries are hidden under his clothes.

Dorian leans against the balcony beside him, close enough they can bump shoulders. “You saved her,” he says softly. “Quite remarkable. I would have recommended letting the plan go ahead and simply…” He trails off at Trevelyan's unamused look. “Come,” he says, dropping the jokes and charades. “I believe I was promised a dance.”

Trevelyan’s face softens and turns towards him. Dorian slides one hand around his waist and takes his hand. Trevelyan is a few inches taller but sinks against him, resting his forehead on Dorian’s temple. It’s not truly dancing, they take a few steps at first but settle into a slow sway together. “When we get back,” he murmurs into Dorian's ear. “I want you. Naked. In bed.”

“As long as you plan on being there with me,” he teases.

“As if I would be anywhere else.”

Somehow it feels like he’s promising more than just a night of sex, maybe it’s the heaviness of exhaustion in his voice. Dorian holds him a little closer. He wonders what it will be like when this is all over, who they will be then. He pushes the thoughts away, he spends too much time as it is overthinking his life choices, for right now he has a beautiful man wrapped around him.

-

Trevelyan pushes him down to the bed as soon as they're back in his rooms in Skyhold, the lights he created float up by the ceiling, suffusing everything in a warm glow. Making Dorian's skin look truly gold. 

He doesn't wait to kiss him, dipping his tongue past his lips to taste. Dorian is in the padding that goes under his armor and his fingers start right away at the ties to get it off. Dorian is returning the favor, trying to find all the buttons on Trevelyan’s formal coat, trying to get it off just as frantically.

He pats Dorian's hands away, growing too impatient and seeing Dorian sprawled on his bed, his chest now exposed and his pants partly open is too much. The rest of their clothes can come off later, he wants to touch now.

He kisses the dip below his Adam's apple, flicking his fingers over a nipple making Dorian gasp and arch. 

“Sensitive,” he mumbles, not lifting his mouth from Dorian's skin as he drags his lips further down. 

“Needy.” Dorian shoves at his shoulder. Trevelyan laughs and bites at his stomach to make him whine. He loves how responsive Dorian is, every touch to his skin makes him react. Arch or moan or something. Trevelyan reaches the dip of his hips and can hear the way his breath hitches. “Trev- _Faron_.”

“I’ve barely touched you,” he teases.

“And you are turning out to be an absolute tease.”

Trevelyan decides to relent and takes Dorian in his mouth. The noises Dorian makes run down his spine and he slips a hand between Dorian’s thighs, pressing against the sensitive skin to hear more. He knows he should slow down, take advantage of this brief moment of time but he wants to much. He wants to see Dorian fall apart, make him feel nothing but pleasure and know it's because of him. 

They've both been denying themselves too much. It doesn't take long for Dorian to hit the edge, his hips thrusting up and catching Trevelyan off guard as he comes. 

His name sounds sweeter from Dorian’s lips than any other time he's heard someone cry it out. The pressure on his own cock from his trousers is finally too much as Dorian rides out the last of his orgasm. He palms himself through the fabric, his mouth still on Dorian as he softens. 

“Here lover,” Dorian says, his voice ragged as if he had been the one giving a blowjob. His hand wraps around Trevelyan's, and the familiar warmth fills him and he cries out in surprise, his eyes squeezing shut with the rush of pleasure. 

Dorian helps strip them both out of whatever clothing they have left on and Trevelyan finds a cloth to wipe them off with. When Dorian pulls him in for a kiss, it's gentle and sweet, a slow exploration of Trevelyan's mouth. He moans softly, acutely aware of the scratch of Dorian's mustache and the calluses on his fingertips where he's curled his hand around the back of Trevelyan’s neck. 

It seems to simply make sense, kissing Dorian. Trevelyan runs his hand down Dorian's back, thinking of the wounds that used to be there and then the thought fades and he just thinks of the warmth of Dorian's skin, and the way he sighs and moves his leg to stretch out over Trevelyan’s thighs. They’ve spent so much time now simply sleeping together, Dorian knows who keeps him awake at night, and it’s easy to just melt into him.

-

He’s woken up by the soft sound of voices and when he twists around in the sheets, he can see Trevelyan leaning over the railing, talking to someone on the stairs. He’s still naked and doesn’t seem to be worried about whatever is being discussed, so Dorian stays wrapped up in bed.

It's not the first time he's seen Trevelyan in the nude, but he's never bothered looking before. His body is long and pale, laced with scars old and new. Plenty that Dorian himself saw inflicted. New bruises and injuries from the fight at Halamshiral interrupt the stretch of white skin.

Everything was too frantic the night before but now he sits up, catching Trevelyan’s attention and gestures for him to return to bed. Trevelyan smirks at him, somehow made even dirtier by the stubble on his usually clean shaven face, truly an unfair advantage in Dorian's opinion. Whoever is down below is dismissed after a few more moments and Trevelyan finally returns to bed, slipping in to straddle his thighs.

“I was worried,” he murmurs, brushing a kiss over Dorian's lips. “I didn't want to wake up alone.”

He frowns and brushes his fingertips over the bruise on his stomach from a well placed boot. “I would never do that to you.” But someone has, maybe the same someone who taught him how to use his mouth. 

Trevelyan smiles and after one more kiss, leans back, resting his hands on Dorian's chest. “I need to go check in with the council.”

Dorian's shoulders sag slightly, of course he does. There is still a darkspawn magister out there determined to rip a hole in the sky. Neither of them can afford to waste time with distractions and this could very easily become one. 

Trevelyan takes one of his hands and kisses his knuckles, then turns his hand to press a kiss to the inside of his palm, letting his lips linger there. “I will likely be badgered to see a healer if Josephine and Cullen get their way, accompany me?”

Dorian curls his fingers just enough to cup Trevelyan's cheek. “Are you saying the big, mean Inquisitor, scourge of the Venatori, needs someone to hold his hand?”

“Scourge, hm?”

Dorian can feel his smile against his skin. “Oh yes, quite.” He runs his thumb over Trevelyan's lips, pressing down slightly on the lower one. 

“And yet I don't frighten you?”

He suddenly gets the feeling they're not entirely joking anywhere. He takes the hand the anchor is trapped in, able to feel the intense magical force trapped there until Trevelyan summons it forth. So much power, able to do so much damage, wanted by so many people. He mirrors Trevelyan's actions and kisses the palm.

Dorian trails kisses up his arm to the worst scar left by Alexius. “We both slept through the night last night.”

Trevelyan is watching him through his eyelashes, face slightly guarded until Dorian speaks and then he smiles. “Don't worry, tonight is a new night. Who knows what demons could show up in our dreams.”

He peels himself reluctantly away from Dorian. “I cannot make them wait much longer.”

“Go, go. I guess I can find some young mages who were trained completely wrong in your southern Circles to educate.” He stretches out, knowing how good he looks. He wants to stretch this out a little longer, just be two men enjoying each others company. It all feels strange and new for Dorian and he doesn’t want to go back to normal life.

Trevelyan laughs and throws a sock at him. “This southern mage is going to save the world so be careful what you say.”

“Perhaps you must keep my mouth busy with other things.” He throws the sock back.

Trevelyan’s cheeks turn pink and his eyes flick down to Dorian’s lips and back up. “I will test that another time.” As soon as he’s dressed though, he takes the few steps to the bed to kiss him, his hands cupping Dorian’s cheeks to angle him up. It’s a gentle promise for later, something it feels they are both somewhat inexperienced at. Dorian curls his hand around Trevelyan’s wrist, just to touch, and lets some of the warmth he first used in that cold wet dungeon curl out from his fingers. Trevelyan huffs a laugh against his lips. “I think you might have to find a new trick.”

His cheeks are definitely flushed now. Dorian grins wickedly, remembering Trevleyan’s reaction the night before. “We will have to test that another time.” 

-

“You seem to be smiling more, Dorian.” Trevelyan hears Cassandra say behind him. He's kneeled down beside Varric, trying to make sense of the faded Dwarven writings so they don't accidentally set off any traps. 

“What could you possibly mean? I always smile, everyone loves my smile.”

“No, no,” Cassandra says. “This is much more of a dreamy smile.”

Varric elbows him and smirks but doesn't say anything. Trevelyan grins and shrugs, he's never made a point to hide what they've become. He certainly has no problem taking the blame for Dorian's smiles.


End file.
